


I'm back on my bullshit

by portonroblavski



Category: Director RPF, Internet Personalities, US Comedians RPF
Genre: ?????, Cheating, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, twitter lord meme shitheads, uh i didn't know what to even tag this pairing lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portonroblavski/pseuds/portonroblavski
Summary: That's right, folks. Brandon Wardell's back on his bullshit. Back on his bullshit meaning he's sleeping with Jack Wagner again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is day 3 of 2017's daily writings! I'm feeling incredibly rusty when I write, but this is all good practice. 
> 
> Anyway, all of this is smut. Can't believe these two are the first pwp of the year.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> edit: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“You coming over after all?” Brandon’s voice fades away, becomes distant behind the rustle of motion on his end of the line. Brandon’s voice comes back clearer, louder the next time he speaks, “Are you already on the way here?”

 

Jack sighs, slightly ashamed of them both, “Yeah… That predictable?”

 

Brandon yawns, “Okay, well you better hurry. I’m getting sleepy.”

 

Jack steps on the gas, hopes that Brandon doesn’t somehow _know_ , “Almost there.”

 

Brandon breathes into the microphone, suddenly sounds more awake than he did before, “Alright, just let yourself in. ‘M already in bed.”

 

Jack replies dryly, “You gave me keys, remember?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Brandon laughs.

 

“‘Kay. See you in a minute.” Jack tries not to smile, hates himself when he fails.

 

“One minute. I’ll be pissed if you’re not here in the next sixty seconds. Or maybe asleep. Haven’t decided yet.” Brandon jokes and Jack can almost _see_ the stupid grin forming on Brandon’s round little face.

 

Jack gets the last word in, “See ya.”

 

Jack Wagner nervously eyes the clock as he speeds down the rainy Los Angeles streets he’s frequented more than he’d like to admit. He knows Brandon is joking about the time limit, but he finds himself driving much faster than is safe for current conditions. Jack arrives at Brandon’s place in less time than he expects, considers waiting in his car for a few minutes before heading in.

 

He manages to wait a whopping two minutes before he turns the car off and gets out. He trudges up the steps, Brandon’s keys ready in his hand, still attached to his own. He unlocks the door, steps in quietly to the dim apartment, and stops to make sure to lock the door behind him.

 

Jack makes his way to Brandon’s room, goes in, finds him buried under a blanket. He startles Brandon when he pushes the creaky door open. The top of Brandon’s head barely emerges out from under the blanket, dark head of hair messy, glasses askew, face thoroughly flushed. It’s a familiar sight to Jack, familiar enough yet it surprises him still.

 

Brandon’s words are muffled by the blanket, “Got started without you.”

 

Jack tries not to blush when he realizes exactly what those words mean. He tries to pick his words carefully before he speaks, tries not to sound too eager when he murmurs, “...I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore.

 

It’s a strange feeling to be back in Brandon’s apartment after a slight drift between them. Jack doesn’t want to be at fault for ruining Brandon’s hand at a monogamous relationship with his girlfriend, doesn’t want to feel the crushing guilt the next time they’re all in the same room together. It should make Jack feel bad that he finds himself in Brandon’s room, especially before 1 AM this time, as odd of an occurrence as it might be.

 

There’s a long pause, silence where they can only hear each other breathe and it’s then that Jack notices how loud Brandon is actually breathing. Jack feels the words escaping before he can stop them, “Fuck, are you touching yourself?”

 

Brandon exhales, “Yeah. Are you going to make me do all of this myself?”

 

For a moment, Jack’s tempted to peel the blanket away and watch. Contemplates how it would be just as satisfying but without the guilt of being involved in this again. Though, desperation gets the better of him when Brandon lets a tiny groan slip from under his blanket and Jack makes his way to the unoccupied side of the bed. He peels his jacket off, tosses it into the nearby chair, blindly tosses the keys onto the bedside drawer where they slide and land with a clink against the champagne sized bottle of Baja Blast. The bottle is another reminder of their history, maybe a warning, but Jack finds he’s too busy to pay it any mind as he removes each article of clothing as quickly as possible.

 

“Hurry up,” Brandon whines as if Jack isn’t already pulling the covers away and slipping into the bed right beside him.

 

Jack watches Brandon for a moment, watches as the younger man works himself. Brandon saves him any more trouble when he hands over the bottle of lube with a shaky hand. Jack smirks and whispers, “Alright, quit touching yourself.”

 

Brandon does it, though reluctant fingers still linger and ghost over the tip of his dick. Jack is already past half-hard, but doesn’t think to touch himself. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he pats Brandon’s upper thigh, squeezes it gently, “Alright, buddy. Turn around.”

 

Brandon sighs, rolls his eyes, inconvenienced by having to get on all fours. He shivers when he turns around. The cool air makes him feel incredibly exposed for a moment before Jack places a warm hand on his ass and makes him forget. A hot kiss on his lower back surprises him, but it’s enough to hold him over while Jack struggles with the lube bottle.

 

“God, it’s so slippery!” Jack chuckles from behind him and Brandon can’t help but bow his head between his clasped hands and smile a little.

 

Brandon listens closely, listens as Jack squeezes the viscous lube into his hand and coats his fingers in it. It’s still too cold when Jack presses a slick finger against his skin, feels it warm as Jack’s thumb rubs circles against his hole. Brandon’s ready to complain, but then Jack finally moves on and carefully presses the tip of his index finger into him.

 

Brandon whines without meaning to, feels the breath leave his lungs when Jack’s finger gradually goes the deepest it can. Brandon rocks his hips, begs Jack to do something other than just stay still. Jack smirks, pulls his finger out just a tiny bit before he presses it back in. Brandon exhales, impatient as always, “More.”

 

Jack pulls his finger out, presses two of them back in this time. Brandon tenses up and Jack slows down, keeps his fingers steady until Brandon backs onto his fingers again. Brandon sighs when Jack carefully bends his fingers and lets his fingertips rub at Brandon’s prostate. It feels good, but none of it is enough for Brandon. He wants more so he turns to complain, “C’mon… _more._ ”

 

Jack’s dark, thick eyebrows rise in surprise and Brandon laughs as he turns back around, rests his head on his hands so his ass remains high in the air.

 

“Fuck,” Jack whispers under his breath and goes to grab the bottle of lube again. He holds it between his thighs and snaps it open, crudely pours some directly onto the fingers still inside Brandon. Brandon jerks in surprise again, but is too eager to really care or complain.

 

Jack makes sure his third finger is slick enough before he attempts to press it into Brandon. It’s definitely slick, maybe _too_ slick, and he realizes when his finger easily slips in farther than he means for it to go. Brandon groans, muffles his sound in the pillows under him, smudges his glasses in the process.

 

Jack hesitates, “Shit, are you okay?”

 

Brandon nods wildly in response, doesn’t reply in fear of making another sound that’s too embarrassingly loud.

 

Brandon feels full, fuller than he has in _weeks_ , maybe longer. It takes him a few moments to get used to the thickness of Jack’s fingers, takes him longer to get used to excessive slickness. Brandon rocks his hips again, hopes Jack remembers how to read his body language. Brandon shivers when Jack pulls his hand away, presses it back closer this time, fingers going the deepest they can. Jack’s fingers rub against his prostate again and Brandon arches his back further.

 

Jack continues to work Brandon open, occasionally presses kiss against Brandon’s pale skin. Brandon rises from the pillow and whimpers, “That’s enough.”

 

Jack stops what he’s doing and slowly pulls his fingers out of Brandon. Brandon continues, giggles as his body shakes involuntarily, “This is exhausting. I’m turning around.”

 

For a second, Jack thinks that maybe Brandon is joking, but he’s stupidly surprised when Brandon ends up on his back and with Jack in between his legs. Jack looks for the bottle of lube again, laughs when he realizes it’s still stuck between his knees. Jack keeps his eye on Brandon, licks his lips, doesn’t realize how dry his mouth is from breathing so hard.

 

He only looks away from Brandon to fumble with the small bottle and pour more lube into his palm. Jack hisses when he finally wraps his hand around his own dick, the lube much too cool still. He watches his hand for a bit, pumps himself slowly, teases the head with a softer touch. He glances up and decides he better hurry when he sees Brandon jacking himself off in time with him.

 

Jack whispers, “You sure? It isn’t too late to stop.” Brandon smirks and Jack rolls his eyes, interrupts the younger man before he can speak, “I swear if you say something about being back on your bullshit, I’ll leave right now.”

 

Brandon tilts his head back in laughter and Jack feels a little of something he hasn’t felt since before Brandon went and got himself a girlfriend. Jack chuckles, “Seriously!”

 

Brandon straightens up a little and with a dead serious look on his face says, “Just get in me.”

 

Jack raises his eyebrows at Brandon for what feels like the hundredth time already, decides it’s best if they just don’t think about it too hard. He crawls closer to Brandon, forces the younger man’s legs farther apart, lifts Brandon so his lower back has support from Jack’s thick, sturdy thighs just long enough to grab a pillow and place it under him.

 

Brandon breathes heavily, watches Jack pump himself a few times before he holds his dick steady against Brandon’s entrance. He lines himself up with Brandon, presses slowly and carefully as possible. Brandon’s hole gives way, allows the head of Jack’s dick to slip in just enough. Brandon gasps, the stretch is sudden and already more than he remembers. Jack pauses, but Brandon’s hand flies to Jack’s lower stomach, non-verbally requests for Jack to stay still. Brandon closes his eyes, steadies his breathing before his hand drops from Jack’s stomach and moves over to Jack’s hip. Brandon pulls him closer, whines as Jack inches further, lets out a shaky breath when Jack is fully in him and he’s stretched around his friend’s dick, feeling impossibly full.

 

Brandon wraps his arms around Jack, pulls him down so they’re face to face. He exhales, “Move.”

 

“Someone’s not getting enough action lately,” Jack laughs, but obliges anyway.

 

Brandon’s voice trembles when he jokes, “Crissy wouldn’t do this to me.”

 

They’re pressed close and it’s the first time in a long time that Jack has faced one of his lovers during sex. It’s the first time he’s ever faced Brandon and he’s not sure how to feel, not sure how to feel about how close they are, how to feel about how their foreheads bump or lips touch when Jack starts to put thrust after thrust into Brandon. It’s slow, in the dim light of the room and the orange glow of the streetlamp outside Brandon’s window. It’s more intimate than they want, but they can’t give it up now.

 

“Hey Jack?” Brandon moans softly and it fuels the hot tension in Jack’s lower abdomen.

 

Brandon is tight and hot around him, so soft and pliable underneath his hands that Jack nearly forgets to reply. He grunts breathlessly, “Mm?”

 

Brandon sighs, “Kiss me.”

 

Jack nearly stills all movement altogether as soon as the words leave Brandon’s mouth, but he does it anyway, too caught up in the heat of the moment to really care. Jack kisses Brandon clumsily, bumps the younger man’s thick-rimmed glasses with his nose. Brandon laughs into the kiss, gasps when Jack hits that sweet spot inside him with the next thrust.

 

They laugh together, bodies pressed close, lips connected, and it almost feels like old times, only a tad more intimate. Brandon’s glasses fog up halfway into the kiss and he giggles again, pulls them off, tosses them aside next to Jack’s keys on the nightstand.

 

“There!” Brandon pants softly and Jack is confused for a bit.

 

However, Brandon clarifies breathlessly, “Ah. Fuck! There…”

 

Jack pulls away a little, aims his thrusts at the same spot, watches Brandon as he falls apart. Brandon shuts his eyes tightly, dark eyelashes fluttering against rose-dusted cheeks, mouth red and slick repeating curses under his breath.

 

And then Jack realizes how close Brandon really is. The way he tightens and pulses around Jack’s dick is enough to tell, but Brandon still warns him with a choked up, “Close…”

 

Brandon’s eyes snap open when Jack wraps his hand around Brandon’s dick. Jack’s hand has a strong, consistent grip, moves in time with Jack’s hips, and Brandon is grateful, so grateful he could cry. He tries to keep his eyes open, tries to keep his eyes on Jack, loves the way Jack watches him with soft blue eyes, pupils blown so wide the color is hardly present anymore. It’s too intense for a moment or two so he shuts his eyes again, lets himself get lost in the friction of the hand surrounding him, the girth of Jack’s dick just deep enough inside him.

 

And then he cums, feels himself pulsate around Jack’s dick, feels thick, hot stripes fall on his own chest, feels Jack’s hand as it slows with his thrusts, Jack’s thumb as it rubs the underside of the head of Brandon’s dick, careful not to overwhelm him.

 

Brandon forgets how to breathe for a moment, limp and relaxed and lost completely in post-orgasmic bliss. He snaps into a more aware state when he feels Jack’s hips falter, feels Jack start to pull away. Brandon whines, eyelids heavy, voice tired, arms weak as he struggles to hold on, struggles to pull. His voice is quiet and lazy, “Cum in me.”

 

Jack lets himself come closer to Brandon again, so they’re pressed together, Brandon’s legs wrapped loosely around him. He buries his face into Brandon’s neck, gently sucks and bites before he has to remind himself not to leave any marks. Brandon cries out, hypersensitive, probably still riding the last few waves of his orgasm. Jack thrusts slower, hardly moves anymore, hyperaware of how much more friction and heat there is now with Brandon still around him.

 

Jack is deep inside Brandon, buried to the hilt when he cums. He’s silent except for a groan he muffles against Brandon’s neck. He feels himself tremble as he spills into Brandon, feels the quiet, satisfied hum in the base of Brandon’s throat when Jack finally stills.

 

 _This is a mess_ , Jack thinks as he’s still on top of Brandon.

 

The entire thing is a mess, but it’s a mess they’ll eventually have to clean up together.


End file.
